


Android Graveyard Field Trip

by taylor_tut



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Feels Pain, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gen, Parent Hank Anderson, Protective Hank Anderson, Sick Character, Sick Connor, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 06:39:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15600513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A prompt from my tumblr: Connor is very feverish and generally glitchy, and no matter what they do, his fever wont come down!!! Bc it’s due to a malfunctioning part. so he and hank have to go to the android graveyard to grab some spare parts (no cyber life bitch!!!! repair shops are closed!!!) and etc. etc. Connor whump ensues.I also included Gavin and his new friend RK900 along for the ride because why not, live your best life





	Android Graveyard Field Trip

Connor hit the wall of the computer room and sunk down to sit, drawing his knees up to his chest, shivering desperately to keep warm despite knowing logically that if it were really as cold as his sensors were indicating to him that it was, that he wouldn't be the only one who noticed. He knew he should go get Hank—Cyberlife was definitely not an option; becoming a deviant had ensured that, and even though the times had changed in the two years following taking down Amanda and the precinct and the world as a whole was working toward eliminating the bias against deviant androids, progress was slow, and many repair shops still refused to cater to deviants. 

Connor had been surprised when Fowler offered him his job back, and he knew that it was probably mostly because he wanted Hank back, and Hank insisted that the two of them were a package deal. However, it had still shocked him, and he was still grateful. It was like everything was the same again, even though it was so different. Even Gavin was nicer to him—it was a prerequisite for his friendship with RK900—and though it wasn't perfect, it was something. 

So there he was, secluding himself in a room away from everyone, away from the noise and the lights and the COLD, when the door opened and he groaned audibly despite not meaning to. Gavin cursed as he tripped over Connor's foot. 

"What the fuck—plastic?" he asked, RK900 steadying him before he could trip all the way into the small computer room.

"Connor," RK900 called when Connor didn't reply, "what are you doing in here? Detective Reed and I need to use the computer for a 3D facial sketch projection."

Connor nodded, scuttling away from them and toward the back of the room. Gavin reached for the light, and Connor flinched, covering his eyes before the light even hit them. RK900 placed his hand over Gavin's before he could flip the switch. 

"Connor?" he called, "why are you hiding in here?" 

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "I know I have work to do."

RK900 stood next to him, motioning for Gavin to run off and find Hank. He scanned him up and down quickly, noting the temperature difference that popped up as a little red warning against interfacing directly with him to avoid spreading whatever virus had corrupted his code.

"You're overheating," RK900 stated, "by several degrees past the preset safeguarded range." 

Connor nodded. "I feel cold," he replied.

"That's because your internal temperature gauge is malfunctioning," RK900 explained. "Detective Reed will be returning with Lieutenant Anderson shortly." 

Connor was still shaking, but suddenly he looked up, his eyes wide and wild, illuminating the room more brightly than they should. 

"Nines?" he called, a nickname RK900 had never truly loved but had accepted because his friends seemed to like it. 

"Right here, Connor," he replied, but he didn't respond to his voice. 

"I can't—ngh," he groaned once and his eyes fluttered shut and his LED flickered off. The door swung back open and Hank's jaw dropped. 

"What happened?" he demanded, crouching next to RK900 in a way that clearly showed Hank expected him to move back, which he did. He tapped at his blank LED. "Connor, kid, come on." 

RK900 stood against the door with Gavin. "The power-down appears temporary," he reassured, "but it's definitely a virus. It's corrupted his gyroscope's input. From a quick assessment, the damage does not look reparable."

Hank frowned. "What does that mean?" he asked. Connor's LED flicked back to red and he stirred, causing Hank to release the breath he'd been holding. "Connor," he called, cupping his cheek comfortingly, all the techno-babble momentarily forgotten.

"Hank?" he asked blinking back to consciousness. “Something’s wrong.”

“We know,” Hank replied, patting his leg reassuringly, “just take a second. Your light’s bright red.” 

Gavin shot an annoyed look at Nines, who shook his head. In the excitement, he’d almost forgotten about the computer they needed to use, but Gavin, of course, hadn’t. He was, after all, a prick detective first and a concerned friend second, still rough around the edges on the second part but learning from, of all things, the fuckin’ robot who held him to standards higher than he’d been held to by anyone before. RK900 didn’t let him get away with being a jerk without being called out, while everyone else in his life had either accepted it and gone along with it, or become an enemy and fed the fire. Gavin was still getting used to having friends in the traditional sense. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them quite yet. 

“I can’t self-diagnose what’s wrong,” Connor lamented. “Every time I try, I feel… I don’t know  _ what  _ I feel,” he admitted. “Not good.” 

Hank nodded and helped him sit up, keeping his hand firmly against Connor’s back. “Jesus, kid,” he sighed, “that’s a hell of a temperature you’re running. How long you reckon you’ve been feeling like shit?”

Connor thought about that for such a long moment that RK900 wasn’t sure if he’d powered down again or not. 

“This morning,” Connor admitted quietly, “but it only became painful within the past hour.”

Hank’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What hurts?” he asked, trying to look him over and finding that the light was too dim. He reached for the switch and RK900 stopped him just as he had Gavin.

“I’m not injured,” Connor dodged the question. Hank looked at RK900 for confirmation.

“I believe he’s right, Lieutenant,” he agreed. “It appears to be a virus that’s corrupted a bicomponent. He’ll need a replacement.” 

Hank stood up, running a hand through his hair and helping Connor shakily to his feet. 

“Okay,” Hank said, “and where do we find a replacement? We can’t go to fuckin’ Cyberlife, and there’s no way to tell which mechanics’ll help ‘im and which’ll try to kill ‘im.”

RK900’s LED flashed yellow, blinked red, then mellowed to a blue-green tinge. “It’s a universal bicomponent,” he stated, “from all models of androids. It doesn’t need to be from another RK800 like, say, a thirium pump would need to be.”

Hank nodded. “So that means…?”

Gavin cursed, one step ahead of Hank but two behind RK900, just having figured out that he was going to be roped into all this, too. 

“Have you heard of the android graveyard?” he asked, and Connor’s legs gave out once more beneath him, dragging him and Hank both to the ground before Nines and Gavin could even lend a hand.

 

Connor came to in the car with a groan, and RK900 offered him a water bottle he’d filled with cold thirium before they’d left the office. He eyed it suspiciously, looked around the car curiously. He had no memory of how he’d gotten here, but he was in the backseat of Gavin’s truck next to Hank; Gavin was driving, and RK900 was riding shotgun.

“What…?” he asked, taking the bottle of thirium and sipping it slowly. As he sat up, several ice packs and frozen dinners from various detectives at the DPD (who would likely bitch Hank out about that later, he realized) fell into his lap. “What’s all this?” he managed, holding up one of Tina’s Lean Cuisines. 

Hank smiled a little. “We were tryin’ everything we could think of to get your fever down,” Hank explained, “but it won’t budge. Stubborn and persistent, just like you.”

Connor didn’t laugh at what he assumed was supposed to be a joke. “Where are we going?” he asked. “How long—?” Flashes of static filled his vision and he trailed off, blinking hard in an attempt to stay awake.

“Easy, Connor,” Hank soothed. “You’re more likely to pass out when your light’s red, we think.”

He gave Connor a moment to calm down. 

“You haven’t been out more than an hour,” he supplied. “Nines thinks he can fix ya, but he needs a part. We’re going to the graveyard to find one.” 

By the time he’d finished the explanation, Gavin had cut the engine, and when he looked up, he was faced with what looked like a junkyard at first glance, a dug-up cemetery at second, and neither of the two at third. 

“We’re here,” Gavin said simply, “let’s get this shit and leave. This place gives me the fuckin’ creeps.”

 

Discarded LEDs littered the ground. That was the first thing that most deviants had taken out and the one thing that almost no one replaced when it went out, as it was all fashion and no function, and even the fashion statement it made was questionable at best. Connor liked the way it gave Hank clues as to what he was feeling, and RK900 was squeamish about plucking it out, so both of them still wore their LEDs brightly, but as the revolution went on, they found that they were becoming a minority. Really, Connor didn’t find the LED nearly as troubling as the fucking Cyberlife ID number, but short of cutting out a chunk of his skin, there was nothing he could do about that. 

“This place is surprisingly empty,” Gavin noted, shining the flashlight straight ahead and trying not to look down at all the parts he was stepping in. “Shouldn’t there be more androids around here lookin’ for shit?”

Connor was leaning against Hank and trying his best to keep pace. He’d been what Hank would describe as “worryingly silent” the whole trip, but now even the act of holding his head up seemed to make his vision spin unbearably, and he found himself most comfortable with his face buried in Hank’s shoulder, wearing his jacket despite RK900’s warnings that he was already close enough to overheating. 

Hank shrugged. “The night’s still young,” he replied noncommittally, “and grave robbing seems more like a ‘by cover of darkness’ activity.” 

Gavin rolled his eyes and caught himself as he tripped over what he hoped was a tree root. 

“Is that really what we’re calling this excursion?” Gavin asked. “Grave robbing?”

Hank scoffed. “Sorry, what would you prefer, Reed? Treasure hunting?”

“Knock it off, both of you,” Nines commanded. “I believe I see a part that might suffice.” 

RK900 stepped forward and Gavin shined the light in his line of sight despite that not being totally necessary. He picked the part up and examined it in the light. It was dirty, but parts of it still had a silver glint, meaning that it wasn’t rusted or corroded. 

“Perfect,” he celebrated quietly, “this will do just fine.”

Connor didn’t react, so Hank shook him lightly. “Hear that, kid?”

“Yeah, Nines found you a heart or whatever, Tin Man,” Gavin added, earning himself two glares.

Connor gave a weak thumbs up. “Yay,” he said, a listless monotone. 

Hank frowned, cupping his forehead and frowning. “He feels hotter than earlier,” he announced. “How soon can—shit, Connor, come on; stay with me,” he trailed off as Connor’s LED flashed red against his shoulder. Gavin came around the other side and slid under Connor’s other arm, keeping him steady as his knees gave out once more and his head lolled to his chest. 

“As soon as possible,” RK900 replied to the unfinished question. “Depending on the tools Gavin has in his car, we can change it here.”

Gavin nodded. “I’ve got shit in the truck bed,” he offered. “Let’s get the fuck out of this creepy-ass place.”

Hank smiled as he watched Connor’s LED light up yellow, then blue as his eyes focused on the part that Nines was holding. 

“You’ll be alright, kid,” Hank muttered, and Connor nodded. 


End file.
